


What Desperate Times Call For

by GashouseGables



Category: Life and Death - Stephenie Meyer, Twilight (Movies), Twilight Series - All Media Types, Twilight Series - Stephenie Meyer
Genre: An Eleanor origin fic but make it gay, Butch Carine Cullen, Butch Eleanor Cullen, Butch/Femme, Carine is a he/him lesbian, Edyth and Carine are still Irish Catholics thanks, F/F, F/M, Family Feels, Found Family, Gen, Romance, Slow Burn, the rules are made up and gender doesn't matter, they're all lesbians harold!!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-05
Updated: 2020-10-10
Packaged: 2021-03-06 18:41:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 10,329
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26283565
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GashouseGables/pseuds/GashouseGables
Summary: Young and desperately angry, Rosalie smells something dangerous in the air ....
Relationships: Carine Cullen/Esme Cullen, Eleanor Cullen/Rosalie Hale
Comments: 12
Kudos: 31





	1. Discovery

Rosalie stops on the trail of a bear after she smells the blood.

Warm, rich, human. The roil in her stomach, the empty pang of hunger makes her dig her heels into the ground to stop herself from leaping blindly at the source. She had to rationalize, assess. She had to remember that she would never forgive herself, and that one’s own opinion on oneself was the only opinion that truly mattered.

It could be that men hoping to acquire bear meat met a grisly end. It could also mean she’d be caught with her hair down and no shoes on. She wants to roll her eyes – that had happened before, and Edyth had laughed mercilessly over the new local legend of the ‘witch of the woods’ in some tiny town in New England.

She scents the air again. There was no discernible sight or sound of a human, but the blood was so fresh. But as she wandered over, she sees that there were marks on the ground, long, dragging. They don’t go far.

There lies a figure, face-down. Whimpering lightly, breath hitching. Big, in brown clothes and thick boots on. His hands were covered with dirt, nails cracked. He had been mauled, where the clothes ended the flayed flesh showed through. In delirium he must have had tried to crawl to god knows where.

She feels a spike of pity, and no small amount of helplessness. Dying and discarded did not sit well with her. She had nothing to help this dying man, save stuffing her skirt under his head as a pillow and perhaps being here to keep him company in his last moments.

She’s gentle, carefully plucking him up and turning him over. “There, there,” she murmurs.

From the figure comes another cry at the movement. High-pitched and breathy. But it clicks in Rosalie’s head, as the gore-streaked face was revealed – this was a woman.

The pity turns in her belly – the next moment, Rosalie had the large body in her arms, cradled protectively and gently. The woman’s face was square and not at all delicate, even when dying there remained a heartiness to her features. A strong chin and a broad, flat nose. Her brown eyes flutter, and Rosalie surmises that she’s handsome, even dashing, when not in pain.

“Hold on,” Rosalie murmurs, not sure if she was heard, before she grips her tightly, and starts to run.

  
  


The blood was borderline over-whelming, and stopped Esme from walking into the room. In fact, in a moment she’s darted to her garden at the front porch and stayed there, covering her nose with the lavender she rips up. She stops breathing, only thinking on Rosalie’s package with shock and confusion. Edyth, for all her protestations against her telepathy lending itself to habitual snopping, stayed behind, absolutely unable to leave without answers.

“What on _earth_ , Rose!” She exclaims, looking bewildered. It seemed the telepath was not able to glean clarity from Rosalie’s thoughts.

“She needs help!” Rosalie declares, her voice wrought. “ _Carine!_ ” She screamed.

He was down the stairs and easing her instantly. “Put her on the dining table, there we are.” He tells her, his voice stern but gentle. He glances out the window, sees Esme, gold eyes large and wobbly with worry, the blossoms across her mouth. He struck with the image of Bussière's blonde Isolde, until his first daughter's voice pulls him back.

“ _Her_?” Edyth asked, astounded, looking down at the close-cropped curls and broad body. “Oh my lord,” she says as Rosalie swipes at her to move as the extent of the damage reveals that while wearing a pair of obviously men’s step-ins – this was indeed a woman. With thick arms and large shoulders, and a torso gruesomely gutted. “Well – I was very worried about the first man in the house in 20 years dying immediately thereafter.” Edyth says.

“She’s been mauled, by a bear.” Rosalie says, unable to rip her gaze away from the woman to glean Carine’s own reaction.

“Poor wretch,” Carine replies, “I don’t think the hospital could help her if she made it there breathing. I don’t think she has enough blood in her veins.” His gaze is clinical, but he did seem mournful of every life as it were – everyone in the room could hear the poor creature’s heartbeat slowing..

Rosalie was able to look at the blonde woman then. Drawing herself up to her full height, a touch shorter than Carine’s whip-lean figure. “Do to her what you did to me.” Rosalie said, fiercely petulant. “Make her mine.”

“You already have.” Edyth tells her, because there was just a hint of a scent, of the woman’s blood near Rosalie’s face. But Edyth had used the last of the breath in her lungs and knows not to try and take another.

Carine looks at Rose, with something like hope. “You want her?” He asked, as though beginning to be happy by the news.

“I need her.” Rosalie’s face is dark, and Edyth, for a second, looks nervous. Rosalie was the type of woman who thought in words, but at this moment, all that was in her head was the image of the wretch on the table.

Sober now, gazing upon such an expression, Carine inclines his head, leaning further down, mouth open, biting directly into the red exposed meat in the woman’s ribs. He does this several times, a hard, intent look on his face.

Rosalie kneels by the woman’s head, smooths a white hand over her forehead. Edyth comes into the garden and gripes onto Esme’s arm as they watch through the window, tense and fretful. Esme felt the phantom burn in her lungs, the want to breathe that was not a need anymore, and must pull herself away.

Esme was the only one that seemed to notice Carine’s fearsome and dark face. She felt as though she had never seen the kindly woman make an expression like that before. But she had. In her hazy, human moments. Her very last moments. _He had looked at me that way._

"It's best the two of you leave." Carine reminds them.

Rosalie takes one last look at the pale, dying woman, and when she runs Edyth follows. Edyth doesn’t say anything, stays back far enough that when Rosalie crashes into a bobcat and eats it immediately, Edyth can only stop and stare. It was the first time she had ever seen Rosalie hunt.


	2. Waiting

Edyth sits with a copy of _The Sun Also Rises_ , while Rosalie stares into the purple woods.

 _Now she’s doomed_. Rosalie glances over to Edyth, who turns another page – very accustomed to ignoring most of Rosalie’s mental running monologue, lest she get berated for being nosy. “I’ve doomed her.” She says aloud.

Edyth took her cue to respond and shrugs one shoulder. “She was always doomed.” Edyth replies, and Rosalie scoffs, rolling her eyes. Annoyed that the blonde would prompt her to answer, only to dismiss her makes Edyth add; “You’ve damned her.”

Rosalie is quick to snap back; “As Carine did to me!”

Edyth scowls, knowing Rosalie had only wanted a reason to place blame on anyone who wasn’t herself, if only verbally. For Rosalie _did_ blame herself, and Edyth was very aware how this thin bratty veneer was Rosalie wallowing in her guilt. “I wasn’t judging you.” Edyth says quietly, “you always think I do, but it’s not my fault you're ashamed of your own thoughts sometimes.”

Rosalie doesn’t respond, and carefully thinks about about the patterns of the bark on the tree. Edyth would never tell Rosalie how impressed she was at the woman’s stubborn nature. It was what kept her from ever tasting human blood. Though now, Edyth had a suspicion she may have sampled at least one drop of the dying woman’s blood, it would only ever remain a suspicion. Nothing less than a full drop of blood would change their eye colour. Rosalie’s eyes were still too black to glean anything.

But her stubbornness also meant that in order to avoid Edyth’s ‘busy-body business’, she would reach an almost meditative state. Rosalie would focus so carefully on a separate train of thought that Edyth would glean nothing of anything deeper. Edyth would never understand how to create the type of thinking monks cloistered themselves in temples to strive for – through sheer want of will alone.

Edyth flips her book closed, and glances down at the cover. She had to be the mature one, the older one, and smooth things over. “Hemingway calls us ‘the lost generation’.” Edyth explains, and Rosalie glances back at her with a frown. “Not you and I, you don’t remember the influenza.” Edyth adds. “I was fourteen when you were born. I see people getting married, and dying, in the paper. I’m struck, every time, when we were born in the same year, but they’re 34 or 35, and I’m still here. Still seventeen.” She says.

But Rosalie was too deep in her own decisions. “I thought you were the pure, unsullied sapphic, the unquestioned.” She said, snide as she brings up Edyth’s past taunts. “ _You_ never wanted to be married.”

Edyth frowned. “Well, I never wanted to marry a _man_! I thought I just wanted to marry God!” She pulls in a deep breath to calm herself down. It was too old an argument to have again. “I’m just saying …” Edyth hesitates, then shrugs. “I don’t know. But you have only asked Carine for something she’s done three times already.” Edyth says, confident in this, at least. “She’s pleased to do it for you.”

They stay where they are through nightfall, but by day break Rosalie falls into deep enough agitation for the girls to seek out a distraction. Edyth leaves her as close to New Orleans as Rosalie could stand to be, and searches the city for Esme. Sure enough, the woman had sat herself at a cafe for a breakfast she slipped to a beggar nearby, and was trying to pick out a new present for Rosalie.

“To lift her spirits.” Esme explains as she props two different hats onto Edyth’s head to model them. Edyth frowns as Esme nods and picks one for the shop-girl to package. “Don’t worry – I got you something too. You’re easier to please.” Esme adds and Edyth perks up slightly at the idea of new book-ends for her library.

Esme is quick to come to Rosalie, and take the girl into her arms, though the younger woman was a good three inches taller. Esme had seen the desperation in Rosalie’s plea before she had had to flee, but now, the poor girl wept with no tears, burying her head into Esme’s shoulder.

“There, there,” she murmurs, rubbing Rosalie’s back, “the best comfort after any ordeal is to go home.” She advises, looking over at Edyth with no small amount of meaning.

The three of them could hear Carine’s quiet, content sigh when he heard their approach. Edyth smiles slightly, knowing that the woman had been a little lonely without his family. The dying woman was no longer dying, curled on a ball on the table, moaning in pain. “Now we wait.” He says. Edyth steps up then, peering closely at the prone form with some curiosity. Her blood was still in her, it smelt so strong under her skin, but that skin was now diamond, and such an impenetrable casing made it easier to bear.

Esme follows as Rosalie went to the kitchen sink and presses water onto her face. The sensation reminds her of what she had lost – not as bracing as cold tap water to human skin, not as uncomfortable as it dribbles down her neck and wets her blouse.

“I’ve cursed her too, and she’s done nothing to deserve it. I just … want her, and I always get what I want.” The last words were bitter, and bitterly untrue. Esme had shushed her, and reminded her that while she was of course entitled to her own opinion, Esme for one did not share them.

“If the life we have is the reason I can call you all my family – then it is a blessing, to me. She will be as well.” She told her, and kissed her. But there was little she could do to shake Rosalie’s abhorrence, and ultimately, she would have to prepare for their new member of the family.

Edyth already excuses herself. “I will pay for the post today and have them leave it for collection for a week. I’ll tell the university my father takes ill – we won’t be able to have any humans around for quite some time.” Edyth takes her hat and coat and leaves. Not at all interested in watching another soul disappear – knowing very well Rosalie would not have her witness the display either.

As always, Carine hovered. Engrossed in the transformation process, and its success. Rosalie stood quietly at the head of the withering, whimpering woman, with no plans to move until the newborn did.

Esme goes to her wardrobe and carefully picked three Mother Hubbard dresses she’d kept for light work around the house. But from what Esme could see spread on the table; this was a big, broad type of woman. Hard-working, blue-collar stock. Esme remembered her own aunts, wives of carpenters and carpenters themselves. A type of woman who had no need or ability to wear skirts except for Sunday at church. She would have to send Edyth out for trousers next.


	3. Awake

The woman opened her eyes and immediately squinted them closed again. Carine beckons Rose to take a step back, and reluctantly Rose joins her three paces off from the table.

Carine stood, patient, for a new awakening the likes of which he had caused thrice before.

“Oh – what is it in the air?” The woman wondered, her voice belied her rectangular figure – higher and much softer than expected. She raised her hand, and waved it. Confused and curious – watching her pale, smooth hand, no longer were the small cut on her thumb, or the peeling cuticles. She stared at it, as though it wasn’t her own.

Carine smiles. “Perhaps the dust, my dear.” He offers gently. The girl stood, and her own bemusement seemed to daze her. She had moved faster than she understood.

She squints heavily, mouth tucked into a thin line. Patient, Carine raises his eyebrows – more than willing to wait for the woman to get her bearings.

Suddenly, there’s a muffled laugh from the door – Edyth’s short, amused gasp. She was peeking in at them and Rosalie glares at her.

The woman seems momentarily distracted by the noise, but resumes her harsh glare. Carine leans forward slightly, ready to listen to whatever the woman had to say.

The woman asks slowly; “…. Are you God-”

“No.” Carine’s face remains impassive, and Rosalie also forces herself not to react, lest they startle or embarrass the woman still coming to grips with her new life.

The newborn’s gaze immediately relaxes, though her lips purse tightly at being wrong. Her eyes flick to Rosalie and stay there.

“I … I must have fainted.” She said finally. Stiffly, she inclines her head towards Carine. “Thank you, ma’am. I need to go home now.” She said mechanically, her red eyes wide open and confused. She takes a step forward, the smooth and swift movement causing her to pause again.

“I don’t believe that’s possible.” Carine replied gently, nodding slightly as though to prompt a response. “Do you, my dear?”

At this, the woman frowns, a tiny, upset little frown. “… It could be.” She tries meekly.

Carine nods slowly, his mouth in a thin, stern line. “Would you return to your family, the same person as before?” He asks her.

The woman looks down at her own unscarred arms. She meets Carine’s gaze sadly. “No, ma’am.” She replies quietly, as though she were afraid. “But they’d be glad of my return, all the same.” She added, stout, squaring her shoulders.

“I’m sure they would.” Carine inclines his head, and when he smiles, the other woman can feebly muster up something of the same on her own mouth. “You seem like a beloved daughter.” His tone was gentle. The woman looked very unhappy, and Rosalie took a step forward.

The change was instant – the woman leant towards her, began to smile, puffed out her chest. That her presence was so welcomed bolstered Rosalie’s confidence, and she stepped right up to the woman’s side.

“You can’t go back to them, it’s not your home anymore.” Rosalie explained sternly. It wouldn’t do to have the woman try to attempt it either.

The smile slips from the woman’s face and her gaze falls to the floor. Rosalie wishes to take her hand, but pulls back, knowing she was the cause of this grief and too guilty to even apologize for it.

The nervous newborn looks at her closely. Rosalie by some gentle shift had passed the light for a moment, the glitter had caught her eye.

“… The fairy realm?” She breathes, the wonder of a much smaller girl in her tone.

Rosalie must stifle an incredulous laugh. It was silly and girlish and not at all what she thought the woman would say.

Carine only raises his eyebrows in polite surprise before he smiles. “Oh, no dear. This is Knoxville.” He assured her. “What is your name?”

“Em McCarty.” The woman answers, before she grimaces and says again; “I mean, Emmaline, ma’am.”

“I am Carine, Cullen.” They shake hands, quick and lightly, and Em jerks her hand back to stare at it with some amazement as feeling another vampire’s skin took some adjustment. “And, Em, I don’t mind ‘sir’.” He added calmly.

Em nodded once, and cocks her head to one side as there were the clear sound of something walking down a flight of stairs. It was Esme, who passes Edyth with a curious look, but says nothing as she steps into the room to stand at Carine’s side. “This is my wife, Esme.” Carine added.

At that, Em’s mouth opened with shock “ _Wife_?” She spluttered, looking absolutely incredulous. Carine inclines his head, as Em looks between the two of them. “But you – wife!” Em grins, wide and toothy, and there’s something very tender in her voice as she continues; “A wife …. It’s a pleasure to meet you ma’am.” This time, Em shakes Esme’s hand vigorously, but pulls back, alarmed at the faint crunching sound.

Esme gingerly holds her own wrist, watching the cracks in the back of her hand slowly seal back up. “It’s no matter, dear,” Esme assures her quickly, her voice slightly tight as Em gawps at her. “You’re just getting on your feet.”

Em mutters some type of apology regardless, and Carine reassures the woman of the accident.

As they do, Edyth walks in soundlessly, obviously meant to keep their new company oblivious.

She arches a brow at Rosalie, who scowls. “What a good nurse.” The smarmy girl says.

“Shut up, you.” Rosalie hisses, annoyed and embarrassed that the girl looks at where she had been trying to rest her hand closer to Em’s, slowly working her way to take hold of it.

Edyth only raised her voice, her tone sickly innocent; “You should say hello!” She encouraged with insincerity, grinning as Em looks to Rosalie with open joy.

Rosalie looks at Em’s face, the eager expression that brightens it, the avid way the woman watches her. She was going to rip Edyth’s hair off at the roots one day. “… How do you do?” Rosalie mutters, her gaze drifting to the woman’s collarbones in an attempt to avoid the earnestness.

Em’s voice booms, “Angel! I remember you!” She exclaims, happily ducking down in order to meet Rosalie’s downcast gaze again. “I mean – I knew I did. But I was worried you might have only been a death vision.” She explains.

Rosalie looks at the shimmer of skin as Em had caught the light from the window. “Perhaps I was.” She admitted, and it was a heavy weight in her gut to say it.

Em nods pensively. “Alright,” then she turns to Edyth with her happy manner from before. “Pleasure to meet you!” She chirps, and sticks out a hand.

It’s taken easily. “Edyth Mason, pleasure too.” She replies with a crooked smile.

The explanation took some time, after Em bashfully tried to ask for just a glass of water for her parched throat.

She remains in nervously polite disbelief until led to a hunt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't call her Eleanor I really know one. Though I also already know a few Emmas .... Cant win.


	4. Changing

Rosalie led her through it, if motivated by nothing but fierce determination to see herself through. See truly and completely the devastating choice she had made for this woman.

Ellie rips her first deer in two. Carine catches a bit of sinew before it touches Rosalie’s cheek, and she would have let it, worn it like a black mark against her. Edyth and Esme had eaten while Em had been changing – to better prepare them all for her awakening. They stayed home, though kept an ear out lest Em lost control. The big woman was the largest of them all, and her thick arms alone spoke of enough strength without the added bonus of being a newborn.

“ _Hot damn!_ ” Emmaline screams at halves of the deer, exuberant as she swallows whatever was available in one gulp. She scoops through the sweetmeat and brings her palm up to her lips to slurp whatever handful of blood she managed to get. Carine looked unenthused by the carnage, while Rosalie was quite a bit startled.

“It would take me _hours_ to get this close!” Em yells at them both, jumping up to a deer before it could scamper and grabbing it by the neck. In the same moment, she tightens her grip until the bone cracks and the flesh gives way. “No need for a knife or a struggle – little thing doesn’t even see me coming.” Em adds with a nod.

This seems the difference between a blue-collar background and a suburban one. Em did not hold the dead deer until the blood had become stagnant and disgusting, horrified to take a life for the first time. Rosalie had been so distraught at catching her first animal – a moose, that by the time she was willing to drink it was stiff and cold and all the harder to swallow.

Edyth had been so distraught she’d buried her first mammal and gave it a little grave marker out of sticks.

“Easier than my da’s rifle by far!” Em declared, chasing after another deer twenty miles off with an intensity that seemed more human than anything. The thrill of the hunt for a vampire was usually sated by more complex beings than prey herbivores. It seemed obvious to Em that the difference between a human hunt and a vampiric one was only speed and ease.

Not the tidiest by far, but by her third animal, Em was keeping them in one piece. “The price we’ll get for these!” She continues with excitement. “Just get a butcher who’ll take ‘em already blood-let.” 

Carine tuts a little, shaking his head with some regret. “I’m afraid we’ll have to leave them to the woods, dear.” He explains to the triumphant newborn. “Too conspicuous.”

Em pauses, and for a moment looks down at the torn bodies, mangled more than a human could justify. “… Oh.” Em said shortly, and Rosalie, for the first time in her life, wished for a little of Edyth’s gifts. “What a waste!” She declares with a frown.

“I’m sorry.” Rosalie says it too quickly, and she knows the expression on her face is much too wretched, but the guilt blooms in her heart instead of a heartbeat.

Em looks to Rosalie, and her eyebrows furrow. “Well, wouldn’t do to cause a ruckus.” She says, nodding just slightly at her own words. They sound strangely cooing, and Rosalie feels immediate embarrassment that Em had been trying to comfort her.

  
  


Em’s clothes were left in tatters by the time they returned to the house. The sky was lightening, and Esme was waiting for them right inside the front door.

She looked at Em and easily laughed. “I thought it might not turn out all that neatly.” She says with a nod, ushering the bloodied woman towards a rag and a bucket of water on the side-table. Em is quick to scrub over her face and arms as Esme continues; “It never does, you know. I was downright indecent after my first hunt, Carine had to lend me his jacket.”

Carine inclines his head, smiling at his wife fondly. “I remember very well.” He says replies, his thoughts causing Edyth to harrumph from her piano.

Edyth had intended to give the new woman some space and didn’t need a hazy reminiscence of how  _fetching_ Carine had found Esme to look in his jacket, how  _gentlemanly_ Esme had found Carine to do it, and how  _carefully_ they avoided looking at one another. One to preserve the other’s modesty, and the other as a thin veneer of coyness. Edyth had suffered through it the first time!

Annoyed, she falls sharply forward and drops her chin onto the keys, causing a striking discord that made Em glance over to the living room. In the moment she stopped the rag from rubbing at her neck, Rosalie moves behind the woman to take it. Em stills, and drops her arms, standing nicely as Rosalie scrubs the back of her neck.

Both of their thoughts are so pleased with themselves and each other that Edyth picks her head up and drops her chin onto the keys again.

“Thank you for the wonderful performance, Edie.” Carine calls to her, in a tone that was much more of a warning than praise. Esme has to fight a smile as she remembers this huffy behavior when she herself was getting to her feet, and she knew what it meant.

Esme turns her attention to Em, who was beaming as Rosalie wipes behind her ears. She is slightly hesitant to break through their moment when she holds out the Mother Hubbard dress she had dug up. “You’re a stout girl – see if these’ll fit.” She says, as she had manage to find three of them.

Em looks at the proffered fabric with a blank stare, though her gaze drops to the floor as she grasps it in one large hand. “… Thank you so much,” Em says, her voice devoid of emotion. She takes a step back from them, and Rosalie tells her to go and change in her own room. “Yes, I’ll ….”

Em is closing the door to Rosalie’s room in the next moment, and Edyth hangs on the doorframe, her lanky form limp with pity. “Are you sure nothing of Carine’s will fit?” Edyth hisses, at the exact volume a vampire in Rosalie’s bedroom would probably still be able to hear. She shrugs. “It’s a bit miserable.”

Carine’s face is very rigid as Edyth nods to him, and his brow furrows. He knew that misery – the expectation of a frock. The expectation of wearing a frock. Miserable indeed. Esme looks immediately concerned, and her gaze is fixed on the closed door.

“Oh dear … I could cut up one of your old polos ….” Esme murmurs, and hurries to her shiny new Singer to get to work. “Far be it from me to shackle another Lancelot.” She adds over her shoulder.

Rosalie was paying attention to nothing but the shuffling sounds coming from her room with increasing agitation. Not that her privacy was being invaded, because she distinctly found Emma’s presence in her room very comfortable – but she didn’t want to leave her alone. So it was only Edyth who had to suffer through the way Carine  _melted_ at the mention.

It was an indulgent little fancy of Esme’s – who claimed Carine as her ‘knight in shining amour’, and Edyth had made the mistake of asking her which one. It had turned out Esme spent a considerable time in school devoting herself to the  Vulgate  cycle of the Arthurian legends.

Rosalie ignored Edyth’s sighing carrying on and went to her room to check on Em’s progress. She had assumed the woman was dressed by now, and was shocked to see the woman still in her blood-stained men’s step-ins, looking down at the dress with a sneer. “Sorry, I should have knocked.” Rosalie says immediately as Em turns to grimace at her.

Em shakes her head. “No, it’s your room.” She says quietly. Rosalie looked back at where Edyth continues to lounge against the door frame to the living room – where the woman carefully examines her indestructible hair for split ends.  _You could have told me she wasn’t dressed!_ Rosalie’s stormy thoughts don’t cause Edyth to say anything, but the blonde sees the redhead begin to smirk at her own locks as she slams her bedroom door closed.

Rosalie turns back to where Em still stands, looking at the dress with nothing but disgust. “You won’t have to wear it for long.” Rosalie eases her –  _she_ certainly wouldn’t be caught dead in that unbecoming swath of cloth, and she could only imagine how unflattering it would be on a larger, more Amazonian silhouette.

Em’s next attempt at a smile still morphed into a strained grimace. “I should be grateful,” she says with a sigh, “I don’t have anything else to wear. Just hurt’s my pride a bit –  I look much better in overalls.”

Rosalie looks over the woman’s body and frowns in surprise. “So shapeless, when you have such a nice figure!” She exclaims. While Emma didn’t have much of a bust, she had enviously narrow hips only emphasized by her wide shoulders. “Even when visiting friends?” Rosalie asks.

Em stares at Rosalie for a moment. “… No-one’s ever said I have a nice figure before.” She admits blankly. “My mama made me sailor sport pants for visits.” She adds.

Then there’s two knocks at the door. Rosalie opens it to reveal Edyth holding a red/blue and white geometric bundle. “Good idea, Em – here,” Edyth dumps the cloth into Rosalie’s arms. “We have beach pajamas.” She adds.

Now Em turns her wide-eyed stare on Edyth, as Rosalie walks over with the larger, flowing suit Esme had made for herself to hide her permanent post-pregnancy body. But Em doesn’t take it, still staring at Edyth. “… Thanks, very much.” She murmurs faintly. Rosalie very carefully decides not to be infuriated that Em was looking elsewhere, Edyth was too plain to worry about.

But Edyth only smiles. “Oh – these are my old clothes,” she says, petting her shirtwaist a little. She was wearing a flour-sack skirt Esme had made her this year. But the pigeon-breasted white blouse with lacing around the shoulders and wide, puff sleeves were at least Edyth’s mother’s age. Rosalie settles when she realizes the relic of a shirt was what had Em’s attention,  _not_ the minuscule bust underneath.

Edyth gives Rosalie a withering look as Em takes the pajamas from her. Though the brunette still looked quite a bit mystified. “H-how old are you?” She asks, her uncertain tone making it seem as though she dreaded the answer. 

Edyth was unbothered. “Mid-thirties this year, there abouts.” She says it easily, and points Em to the chinoiserie screen Rosalie had for decoration. Em shuffles behind it to change while the other girls stayed in the room. “But, seventeen, when the time came.” Edyth adds, and glances at where Em drops her bloody underwear. “How about you?” Edyth asks her.

“I’m nineteen.” Em replies, and steps out in the beach pajamas. Edie had thought ahead and underneath the low-back suit Em was wearing a side-tie blouse that managed to fit her due to its baggy shape. “This shirt’s got to be at least ten years old.” She adds as Edyth shrugs a shoulder.

“I bought it in 1922.” She looks at Rosalie. “Nineteen – same age, then. Just babies.” She simpers.

“Oh good,” Em says, looking at Rosalie with a bright grin. “I was hopin’ I haven’t developed a taste for grandmothers.”

“Don’t worry, the only grandmother here is Edyth in her dowdy shirt.” Rosalie tells her, smiling as Edyth splutters at the insult thrown against one of her favourite blouses.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Throwing away clothes that go out of style because you have money isn't very environmentally friendly. And the memories associated with them would mean too much!


	5. Adjusting

Time moved as it usually did without human activities to fill the day. Without Carine’s work week or Edyth and Rosalie’s schooling, the fortnight was filled with teaching, and learning and guiding. Night never meant more than the green leaves on the trees becoming purple, and with no need to sleep Em found herself instructed almost around the clock.

Esme had made a few culotte suits for Em, and while it did look as though she was about to play tennis all day, she was delighted with them.

Edyth takes her own leave every few days to go to the supermarket and mention to a few local gossips about their new lodger, so as not to raise any suspicion.

Edyth lay in front of the fire on her back one night, while Em and Rosalie shared the sofa and Esme snipped at her hedges outside. Carine sat in an armchair and reveled in a mundane little evening with his family. “I’ll say the new young man has on eye for our Rosie – maybe that’ll put a stop to the ungentlemanly thoughts of the neighbors ….” Edyth says, grumbling as though the lechery was more of a bother for her than for Rosalie.

Em frowns, looking a little distressed. “I don’t want to be some gentleman. Just tell them I’m the new lady-gardener.” She suggests, nodding as though she thought it was the height of sufficiency.

Edie waved a hand impatiently, “Oh, just as a playact – like Carine.” She says flippantly.

Em’s mouth makes a thin, unhappy line above her chin and Rosalie scowls at seeing it. “Don’t be such a brat, Edie, you don’t always get your way.” She snaps.

“This kettle is sick of hearing the pot!” Edyth snips back. “Kettle is also sick of hearing every young man’s opinions on your fat thighs.”

Rosalie gasps and slowly stands. “You take that back – just because you have to wear Gibson shirts to have the _illusion_ of a bust.”

“No fighting, please.” Esme calls from the porch.

“No, your thighs are lovely,” Em says, petting Rosalie’s hand and tugging at it until she sits down again.

Carine leans over to bap Edyth on the head with his folded newspaper. “Enough. You’ll tell them what she likes, Edie.” He tuts, and glances up at Em. “But not a maid, dear – you can be Esme and Edie’s cousin; they’re sisters.”

“You can’t look like a groundskeeper when you look like you’re going sailing.” Esme says, and chuckles heartily to herself before anyone else follows with a polite smattering, which was just Carine and Em humouring her.

Em lifts Rosalie’s hand and waves it slightly. “What does that make her?” She asks eagerly.

“An infestation.” Edyth immediately answers. Carine doles out another smack with the newspaper.

“Edie and I are school-friends and I’m staying for the holidays.” Rosalie explains, smiling because Edie was hit twice with the newspaper and she none.

“I think I shall make your illness contagious too, my good man.” Edyth says to Carine, who laughs gently and reminds her not to be too wicked. Edyth also had the job of buying up groceries, and be seen driving them home. Then, after a few hours, drive the food to the next town over to donate them to the church’s needy.

“They ask after my older sister’s health!” Edie reports gleefully one day. “They say she was seen puttering around the garden at three in the morning – hoped she’d find a cure for her insomnia soon!” Esme’s answering laugh was close to a witch’s cackle.

Carine called Rosalie into his home office like a strict headmaster, and like a petulant student, Rosalie goes reluctantly.

“You’ve been avoiding me.” Carine says, with the same smiling calm he usually adopted when talking to Rosalie about something he thought she might blow up about. Like a stone wall with a smiley face on it; it made Rosalie feel silly when brought up against it, which usually made her swallow her anger and stew in it.

“Have I?” She asks airily, already sure she was going to hate this conversation. “I’m sorry, you’re right. It’s difficult to get a hold of me in this big house.” She says with a nod, looking down at her nails and cocking her hip.

Carine pets his desk and the calm is replace with a more genuine, larger smile. “Come talk to me, come on now.” He coos a little, which makes her purse her lips so she doesn’t smile and encourage him to continue to talk to her like a baby. But she does go and perch on the corner of his desk. She’d done it once to put her Christmas catalog clippings in front of his nose before Edyth could, and he’d liked the familial gesture so much that she usually didn’t do it.

But from this angle he looks up at her, and she does like that better. He waits, expectant, and Rosalie mulls over her thoughts carefully. Edyth had gone out hunting with Emma, and Rosalie was sure that was why Carine choose to call her up. She puts her thoughts in order for most of an hour before she speaks. “I’m never going to thank you, see, for this life you’ve given us.” Rosalie tells him slowly. “I never asked for it – though I don’t hate you for it. But I don’t know if I’m going to forgive you for it either.”

Carine inclines his head, and pets her knee.“I’m glad you don’t hate me, dear girl, that’s all that matters to me.” He tells her, and his voice becomes a little strained as he continues; “When I saw you there … I only saw how much potential was going to be squandered if I didn’t do it.”

“Potential to end Edie’s spinsterhood,” Rosalie shoots back immediately, “and look where that led.” Her tone at the end is one of satisfaction. She’s always been pleased, at least, that she had ruined that plan. That in the light of day, making her forever, remember that night, to continue on – it was for nothing.

“Maybe at first.” Carine allows firmly. “But that’s certainly not why I kept you.” He smiles slightly. “You can ask me of anything Rosalie, I’ll always take care of you.”

Rosalie looks down at his yellow eyes and looks very, incredibly young. “… Thank you,” she whispers, “but I already know that.” She has a creeping suspicion that Carine had not only been waiting for solely Edyth to leave the house.

“I have brought everyone under this roof into this life.” He says intently, his brows raised as though he wanted to lead her to understand him. “Any blame is solely mine, and it’s not for you to worry about.”

Rosalie hops off the desk and heads straight to the door. “But I already know that.” She repeats firmly. Oh yes, Carine knew of _blame_ – no desperate sickly mother’s plea kept Rosalie, no jump from a cliff of her own volition. Carine _did_ have all the blame of the bite, and every drop of venom was his!

… But Rosalie chose, just as Carine chose. He had the blame to grant her what she wished, but she wished it. She knew that, and that makes her pause at the door. “Do you really think she’ll blame me?” Rosalie asks the door-hinge quietly.

Carine hadn’t moved an inch, but now leans back slightly in his chair. “No, she hasn’t got your temperament.” He says, smiling as Rosalie whips around to scrutinize his face and see if he was insulting her. “She _compliments_ you, you know.” He says, cooing the word, and he only looks pleased. “I just want you to be happy. It’s all I’ve ever wanted, since I saw you there … I thought Edie would make you happy. But I’m glad Emma does.”

His face is still smiling and so soft. Rosalie’s hand left the doorknob, and went to Carine’s side. Her face was very stern and set as she looks down at him. But he doesn't seem surprised when Rosalie leans down and kisses his cheek, before walking back and closing the door behind her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Carine's gender is 'don't worry about it' because he sure doesn't.


	6. Learning

Esme took a very prudent position over Em’s speed, and pacing, with Rosalie as the teacher’s aide. “Right now, our biggest concern is how people from the street shall see you from afar.” She reasons. She had been working on the manner Em walked down the stairs in their home, for two days now. Unlike Edyth and Rosalie, who had a reat deal of moping to do before they even wanted to brave the outside, and Esme, who had been a little too cowed to try - Em was getting impatient and eager to explore Knoxville.

“I never did take stairs slow before!” Em groans, but looks to Rosalie. “Perhaps you could be my good example?” She asks with a toothy grin.

Rosalie inclines her head and enjoys how cheered Em seems to be, watching her avidly as she calmly walks up and down the stairs. Rosalie fancies that particular attention was also being paid to her legs and hips as she does so. Em takes it with a sturdy, studious attitude, for about 5 hours.

“Oh! The school day is over!” Em then declared, and looked beseechingly out the window, in the dusky noon. “The night is still new, don’t keep me from it.” She said, turning and pouting at Esme. “Be a kind schoolmarm.” She suggests, unable to keep the pout on her lips as her mouth slips into a smile.

Esme laughs a little, rocking back on her heels and making a show of considering her words, before she shrugs. “Well, alright, I suppose!” She concedes, and Em looks unabashedly giddy to link arms with Rosalie and jostle her out of the front door. Rosalie’s hand on her forearm tingled in a way that made them both all the more giddy. Rosalie didn’t think twice about taking her reaching hands and trotting after the other woman; she finds herself swept up in the light feeling, and they’re both giggling as they tromp off at a _carefully_ human pace.

Em would inevitably speed up her pace just enough for Rosalie to yank her back to her side. “Slow! Slow!” Rosalie laughed, as Em obligingly lifted one foot and stretched forward, making a very silly lunge as Rosalie was stooped down to keep up with her as their arms remained tightly linked.

They went along the road, empty of any other houses, though seasonally it saw a troop of boy scouts who whispered about the strange occupants of the lonely house.

But it was winter, and their ridiculous hobbling went unseen – the only reason Rosalie found herself playing along. But the giggles died down, and Em began to look a little troubled.

Rosalie squeezed the woman’s elbow. “Is anything the matter?” She asks quietly.

Em looks at her with her orange eyes, lightening every passing day. “… My home.” She answers. “It’s hard there, especially losing the older girls.” She explains. Rosalie nods once, but she didn’t really understand. She was the eldest girl, and while she missed her human family and her friends, the pain was harder to reach now – as though she were trying to see it through a dirty window. As though she was now missing the _idea_ more than the people.

“I was my mother’s right-hand for anything!” Em goes on to explains, eyes wide and sad. “Couldn’t mend very well, but were me runnin’ the errands and wranglin’ the babies… my mother needed me.” She murmured. Now Rosalie was really lost – with the small army of household staff, her mother hadn’t lost a helper, just a precious pet, a bauble. Moody, Em looked back at the house they still walked away from. “Would have been easier to lose a son.”

Rosalie saw the furrow brow and the way the woman straightened, kept her eyes forward. “I’m sorry.” She whispers, feeling the guilt like a hot knife in her frozen heart.

Em takes her sorry as solely sentiment. “Don’t fret for me, now.” Em says, petting their linked arms briskly. “Never did like seeing pretty girls upset.”

Rosalie says nothing, taking her turn to tug on Em’s arm, back towards the house. The big woman is more than happy to dawdle back with her, and Rosalie almost regrets heading back into the house. She could have kept walking, arm in arm with Em, no matter how long the road was.

“How can I cheer you up?” Em asks her, ducking down to look at Rosalie’s still-somber face.

“I don’t need it.” Rosalie replies, letting Em’s arm go and going to her own room. She had her work bench and a dresser and a vanity.

The closest thing Rosalie had to a bed was a duchesse brisée – Esme had been acutely embarrassed to be the only one with a bed in her room with Carine, and had insisted Edyth and Rosalie have something of the same to ‘be comfortable’.

Most of the time when Em wasn’t being the diligent student, she could usually be sitting there, chatting with Rosalie or listening to music together. Rosalie had made her a small paper hot air balloon that was flown with a tea candle in the basket. Em picked it up now, watching Rosalie as she sat at her work bench and went to the Cadillac v-16 manual, listlessly flicking it open.

Esme appeared at the door – they had only been gone an hour. “Is anything the matter, my dears?” She asks them quietly.

“It’s nothing, I’d rather be left alone right now.” Rosalie explains, not looking up from her manual. Esme nods gently, keeping the door open as Em reluctantly got to her feet and tromped over to her. As she passed by Rosalie – the blonde took the waistband of Em’s trousers in her fingers and blinked up at the woman in genuine surprise. “Oh, Em, you’re going too?”

Em looked at her and her head swiveled to Esme closing the door behind herself. “You said – may I stay?” She asked dumbly.

Rosie inclines her head demurely. “I’d hoped you would,” she murmurs, letting Em go and looking back down to her book, “but if you’d rather keep Esme company ….”

Em took it upon herself to tromp back to the lounge and her balloon. Rosalie joins her on the brisée and Em took up a match and lit the tea candle, pushing the little flier towards Rosalie, who let it drift over to her hands.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TLDR Rosalie gets too down in the dumps to finish Em's walkies.


	7. Playing

Esme and Carine went to a dinner with some university types one night. Esme wore a fur from a fox Em had specifically eaten as carefully as possible – and used Rosalie to contact a furrier her family knew in Sevierville to have it made up. After seeing the couple off, Rosalie and Em go to their bedroom. Rosalie had Em sit in front of her vanity mirror and was running her fingers through her hair.

It was cropped close to her head and deliciously curly. “I should have liked neat little curls like this,” Rosalie says, particularly envious. Her own mother had coveted the Gibson Girl image before Rosalie was born, so would rather pin up Rosalie’s elbow-length hair than have a shorter cut. “I’m sure I could have you looking like Claudette Colbert.” Rosalie took a brush and began to comb through her hair. It took extra effort to style and curl their hair – as unyielding as the rest of them, it withstood hair spray but hair pins worked.

Em’s hair was bouncy and thick, too, Rosalie admired, twirling one defined curl around her finger.

“I wouldn’t think so, the best you could get out of me would be Fredi Washington.” Em replied, but then she laughed loudly. “Much too big to be her though! Just the hair.” She added.

Rosalie frowned. “Who is that?” She asks, plucking slightly at the curls to try and form them. After she had brushed them, they started to fray like cotton-balls.

“From _Hi-Di-Ho_ , with King Cab.” Em answers.

Rosalie shook her head. “I haven’t seen it – we should watch it together.” She wasn’t as big a fan of jazz as Edyth was, but she could keep up.

Em hums. “Well, we can go see _Imitation of Life_ , she’s in that too.” She adds.

Rosalie pauses, and pulls her hands from Em’s head. She’d fluffed up the curls and broken them considerably. They now stood apart from her scalp, in a very specific way. Em glanced at her in the mirror, looking curious. But Rosalie was staring very hard at Em’s reflection, and the big woman watched for a little, before she put her elbows on the table and raised her eyebrows.

“What do you want to ask me?” Em’s smile was thin but not angry, she just seemed expectant.

“… You’re not white, are you?” Rosalie asks her.

Em shook her head easily. “Maybe a couple of my grandparents, but not me.” She said. Rosalie suddenly felt very silly - she could see it now, that it wasn't a suntan kept over. _All the more difficult to pass her off as a vague relation in the future._ She thought, and a mocking little chuckle came from the door.

Edyth having skipped up to investigate them. “Oh no – Rosie’s house is filled with paddys already.” She simpers.

Rosalie was always on edge when Edie didn’t bother to knock. Carine was of the opinion that it was something of their vampiric nature that made them so territorial – but Edyth had been an only child and Rosalie had had her nursery all to herself. “Go away, Edie, I could stand to have _you_ out the house.” She sniped.

“I just wanted to join in!” Edie protested, simpering a little. Rosalie knew her well enough to figure that might just be true. Edyth and Rosalie didn’t bother to try and spend much time together – they shared no common interests, and after all Esme’s doting attention usually suited Edie just fine. But with Em here it did seem different – they were all the same age and had about the same life experiences.

Rosie immediately shook her head. Edie certainly never offered any invitations to Rosalie when she spent time with Esme, after all, and Em was obviously pleased with it being just the two of them.

Edyth locked eyes with Rosalie. “You never asked.” She replies. The majority of the time, the only direct thoughts Edyth responded to were from Carine. Usually she knew better than to acknowledge being present in Rosalie’s head. Rosalie was immediately swamped in anger at the violation; grip tightening on the hairpins she held, crushing them into a spiky knot.

“Well, we’re sorry for that!” Em replies, cutting through Rosalie’s fury with her slightly huffy tone. She had misunderstood Edyth’s words as feeling left out. “But we would hate to interrupt time with mummy’s favourite.” She adds, and that made even Rosalie laugh, her anger thinning out as Em darts her brows up at Edie smartly. Edyth clicks her tongue and looked mildly embarrassed.

“Do you mind, Em?” Edie asks pointedly putting on a wide comic smile.

Em was already shaking her head and petting the bench beside her. “I’ll play with you, carrot-top!” She says, and Edyth’s smile drops as she pets her very long red hair, it was down to her waist. Edyth claims she spent most of the 19-teens growing it out and she’d never cut it – she was more than happy to spend three hours pinning it up.

“You don’t have to be nice to her.” Rosalie is quick to assure Em. “No one wants to play with your nasty red hair.”

“Oh? Nasty? When the _It Girl_ used henna to try and get my colour!” Edie argues, now petting over her crown consciously. Edyth’s hair was more of an auburn than orange.

“I could never sit through those silent ones,” Em says, shaking her head with distaste. “My mama kept trying to make me watch _Scar of Shame_ with her – but it’s too sad!”

Edyth snaps her fingers suddenly. “We need to pay your bride token, little Emmaline!” Edyth declares, petting the woman on her fuzzy head. Rosalie fussed around with her hair pins to prepare to pin it nicely again, pinching them back straight as Em frowns.

“What do you mean?” She asked. Rosalie brings her hand to Em’s head, but the woman’s large hand closes over hers. Em glances at her reflection with a grin. “I’d best fix my own hair, angel,” she advises gently. Rosalie brings her hands back, more embarrassed than hurt as Edyth was there to see it.

“You said yourself your family lost a daughter.” Edie pointed out, and began to grin. “Sounds like a marriage to me!”

Rosalie huffed in annoyance, glaring at Edie. The girl really took being a spinster seriously. “You’re a very macabre girl!” She snapped, equally furious that her offer of charity would no doubt hurt Em’s pride and embarrass her very much.

Em was fiddling with her locks of hair, and Rosalie watches her work carefully. “Would you?” Em asks Edyth, though her tone is subdued, and she looks nervous. “Do you think Carine would mind?”

Edyth shot Rosie a smarmy look, and shook her head slightly. “Incapable of it!”

Em bobbed her head to one side, considering to agree with her. “I suppose he’s used to giving alms.” She says quietly. Edyth pulls her lips into her mouth and shares a look with Rosalie – they certainly didn’t want Em thinking of it as charity.

Rosalie shook her head, tapping Em on the shoulder to get the woman’s attention. “It won’t be his.” Rosalie says quickly. “We should use my money, it’s fitting ….” She would have liked to entertain the idea of Emma’s family liking her, specifically – and she felt she owed them something for her happiness now.

Edyth waves a hand at her, her mouth slightly pursed. She declares; “Of course it’s fitting- she’s _your_ bride!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Golden Age cinema had no one that looked like me ... but I'm still obssessed. Edyth is referring to Clara Bow and probably would have loved using her as an example of redhead superiority.
> 
> Since they were around 19 in the mid 30s, Rose and Em would only remember silent films from when they were around 10, which I doubt would hold the interest of little kids, and I don't think their parents would be willing to entertain bored children for various reasons. Sound films would be the norm by 1935 and would have the monopoly in the entertainment industry until the introduction of the television.


	8. Being

Em hovers over Edyth as she collects some cash and puts it in an envelope. Carine and Esme had returned and were very enthusiastic with the idea. “You should put a note, ‘sorry for your loss’, so they know it’s for Em.” Esme suggests.

“Something about how it’s impossible to ease such suffering, but impossible to sit by and watch,” Carine continues, and Edyth sighs.

“Why don’t the two of you work on a letter?” Her tone is heavily sarcastic, but Esme and Carine both put their heads together to write one anyway. Which only serves to further annoy the red-head, as she waits for them to choose the words.

Em stood silent and patient, and constantly fixes Rosalie with a wide beam. Rosalie stood closer to the door, and when Esme and Carine had perfected their note, Edyth sealed it all up and bid them good-bye.

Rosalie was furious and jealous in equal turns. That Edyth made such a good gesture and Em looked so incredibly pleased by it. “It was good of Edie to do it,” Em said, stepping up to Rosalie and taking one of her hands.

Rosalie didn’t need to hear it. “Well, she probably stole the idea right out of your head.” She snipped. She feels hollow in her chest – that Edyth was visiting the human family that Em would never see again. And her head tells her that Em would have never seen them again regardless, even without the bite, properly humanely dead, but her heart sinks with her guilt. _Damned her, damned her_!

Rosalie watches as Em’s face falls a little, and the woman looks down, bashful. “Still, she didn’t have to actually do it ….” Rosalie feels a little as though she was watching with a pin-hole distance, as though her limbs were as pliable as the marble stone they resembled.

Rosalie doesn’t want to stand here and listen to Em speak about another woman – even if it was just Edie. Rosalie wants to move, to prove that she still could. “I’m hungry – excuse me.” She hears the words come from her mouth, but her lips feel strangely numb.

“Let me come with you!” Em says, but Rosalie is already moving, running.

  
  


Rosalie holds her shoes in her hands as she runs. She has a feeling and a growing certainty that Em follows her, and slows to a stop near a river. It’s late in the evening and Rosalie suspects they might have crossed the border at some point. Em stops some distance away.

“I’m sorry Rosie,” she called out, “you looked upset, and I was never any good at leaving pretty young things alone.”

At Em’s voice, the pure gentle concern, Rosalie feels herself crash down. Like a wave on the rocky shore, like a crystal vase dropped on the floor.

“It wasn’t supposed to be like this!” Rosalie cries out, feeling the pain claw at her throat and shoulders and try to drag her to the ground. But she was stone now and would not budge. “I was supposed to be following in the steps of Aimee de Heeren. I was supposed to be striving for best-dressed lists and the headlines of the society pages. I …” Rosalie paused, breathed out slowly. “Do I sound like I’m from New York?” She asks Em plaintively.

Emmaline shakes her dear curly head. Rosalie knew how she spoke – the purring ‘r’s and sharp ‘a’s of the Mid-Atlantic accent she’d learnt at finishing school. But she’d had to change it, as they moved to smaller and smaller towns. Where it struck people as too rigid and high-bred. Where it never really took, where it was already falling out of fashion.

She looked at Em miserably. She almost wished she could cry, that she could let the dam break. But she knew Em would comfort her and soothe her, and she didn’t deserve the relief. “I’ve robbed you of your human right – your right to die.”

Em grunts, throws up her hands. “Well, now, I think that’s enough!” She snaps, marching up to where Rosalie cowered on the ground and squatting in front of her. “I can barely stand to see pretty girls upset – so imagine how hard it is, to see the most beautiful woman in the world like this!” Em reaches down, grabs Rose’s cheeks and presses them together. Rosalie feels her cheeks squish together and does nothing. “I’m sorry I’ve not told you yet, that I’m grateful, but I’ll tell you now. I am glad I’m still here – maybe not the same as I was, but still here. I didn’t want to die, in those woods all alone, Rosie. I was frightened, and you saved me.” She says with wide eyes and a furrow in her brow, while she mashes Rosalie’s cheeks together.

So when the woman says; “Thank you.” it’s muffles through pouted out lips.

Em’s lips quirk up, and she lets her face go. “… Would you have me die now?” She counters, brows raised. “To make it up for it?”

“ _No_ , no …” Rosalie grabs the woman’s fingers, strong and thick from real work. She looks down at them as she whispers; “stay with me.”

“I will – I want to!” Em assures her, her tone uneven as she laughs as she speaks. “I don’t want to be anywhere else, Rosie. Don’t leave me all alone, angel.”

“I won’t.” Rosie said softly, unable to stop herself leaning into the large palm of Em’s hand. She felt much better already, the guilt ebbed away, knowing the woman was happy to be here with her. The release had felt good, being able to give a voice to her guilt and regret, and hearing them just as swiftly rebuffed had drained her of all the tension she had been holding.

As though all her stone flesh had melted, she sinks against Em, who sways backwards onto her bottom, and scoops her up happily. “Angel, pretty angel.” She coos.

Em lowers her head and their lips meet, the strange almost scrape of their skin against each other was disconcerting for the first few moments. Rosalie whimpers, as Em’s thick arms wrap her up and crush them together. Rosalie gives a shaky sigh as Em presses her tongue into her mouth, inhaling the scent of the woman that was already so dear to her.

Em is slow to pull back, her pink tongue darting out to lick the corner of her own lips. “Been wantin’ to taste you for a long time now, Rosie.” Em admits, her gaze was impassioned. Not the distasteful patronizing lust of older men who expected her to fawn under their attention. The open adoration of someone who knew exactly who they were looking at. Rosalie herself was too consumed with staring right back at her to school her own facial features. “Wasn’t expecting it to remind me of scotch.” She says, her mouth pulling into a grin.

Rosalie blinks, surprised, before she realised what Em was referring to – the dull burn of another person’s venom. “We don’t have saliva anymore.” She says shortly, grimacing. She pulls away,

She remembers Esme telling her, with some bashfulness, when she was still new, when Carine still had hope that Rose would ever deign to consider Edyth as anything more than an annoyance.

“So that means a million kisses from you just might get me drunk?” Em asked, eyebrows darting up while Rosalie bit back her chuckle.

“It means we will just have to get used to each other – through exposure.” Rosalie explains, and Em hums cheerfully. “We can’t get drunk.”

Em’s smile is practically cut off her face. “Wait – what?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's all folks! I am probably going to do more Life and Death ~inspired~ bits and pieces because it's so much easier to make gay.

**Author's Note:**

> I understand the grammar of the title sucks but consider this - why respect the english language?


End file.
